That’s Catalina (in gray) and Sibling (in black) above in
July of 2000, in the first photo we were able to take of the two of them
together. They turned up in our lives earlier in the spring, 3 of them,
actually, that I discovered wedged down into the opening of a concrete block
lying on its side on the back porch of the old store. Was Mother Cat in the
process of moving them and used this as a staging area? Had someone wanting to
reduce another household’s cat population dropped them off in hope? We never
knew. We never saw a mother cat, but it is possible that she had been killed by
a passing car somewhere out of sight. In any case, we decided to leave them
alone to see if their mother returned. We did put some water and a bit of milk
out for them.The next day we returned from a trip to Tuscaloosa and were
greeted by the sight of Roscoe running through the back yard with that third
kitten in his mouth, a small black kitten with a touch of white on his paws (I
believe it to have been male). Roscoe was not savaging it, but the trauma of
the small, weak kitten being snatched up and played with by a large rough late
adolescent Rottweiler mix had led to its death. I called his name, with an
exclamation mark at the end, and he immediately stopped running and let me
retrieve the body, which I later buried. I used my firm but not angry No! while
showing him the body, and I think he understood. The other two kittens as well had wandered into the yard. It
was just their good luck that Roscoe had snatched up the male kitten and not
one of them. But Tom and I felt guilty. We decided to take a more active role
with the remaining two, and we set up a box and feeding station for them in the
garage.I asked Tom if he had ever been around growing kittens. Big
cats, yes, but not kittens. I thought that a lack that should be remedied, and
we decided that we would adopt the two. Tom immediately named the gray one
Catalina (he knew the island from his Coast Guard and Los Angeles days), and
her sister became Sibling. It seems fitting in a way that the black kitten should be
named to reflect relationship with the gray one. From the first time I saw the
3 in that hollow in the concrete block, Catalina was the tough one. The boss.
She was the one who hissed and spit when I approached, her two siblings simply
cowering back in fear.

Roscoe was fascinated by the kittens living in the garage,
and pretty soon they began to venture onto the patio with him. He seemed to
enjoy their company. They got along so well that we moved their sleeping
quarters into the yard as well. For some time this outside living arrangement
worked fine, but kittens, as they grow, begin to explore. The fence and the
gate kept Roscoe in, but not the kittens, and they began to venture across the
side road to the property beyond. Too dangerous. We decided to move them onto
our screened-in front porch. Roscoe much enjoyed visiting the kittens on the front porch,
and quickly we learned that he liked cat food and was constantly tempted to rob
the kittens of their food. We began using the wicker table as their food
station.

Having the cats on the porch worked pretty well, for the
most part, although in the first couole of years they did have a tendency to try
to get out.They managed to burst
through the screen more than once. Luckily I had a couple of old window screens
in storage, and I was able to patch the screens using them. Didn’t look great,
but it was simple and effective, and I purchased a few more to have in reserve
when needed. And they were.

(That wicker table and accompanying wicker chairs had been
purchased by my mother when the neighboring Umbria Plantation had been sold in
the midk-1950s. For more about Umbria, check out the “Ghosts of Sawyerville”
photo-essay under PLACES above. That couch in the corner my sister found for us at a yard sale in her neighborhood.)

As expected, Tom adored the kittens. Here he is with Roscoe
as the kittens are dining. You will note a certain intentness in Roscoe’s pose. You will also note a tendency in Sibling to react to any sudden move.

Jonathan and Roscoe with kittens. It is March, and they kittens have not been on the porch vey long yet.

Tom and Catalina . . .

And here they are again. That window behind is the window to the porch from the front bedroom. If you stayed there anytime after 2000, you were likely to hear cats carousing on the front porch. They knew that if a light was on in that window, somebody was inside.

A plastic orange juice container became their water pitcher.
Although they themselves never learned to pour, they did upon occasion knock
it over.

They’re starting to grow now. An old plastic garbage can
with a hole cut in the lid became their bedroom and hideout (and they could
disappear quickly if they felt threatened).That old end table to the right quickly became Sibling’s special “pet
me” place.

As you can see . . .

Sibling also liked this petting
place, in the northwest corner of the porch. As I write, in 2014, she still loves both of these locations in which to receiver petting. And as you can also see, she is growing up. They do become cats, you know. Surprisingly quickly.

Catalina seemed not to like having her picture taken. She’d turn her back and head off.

Just possibly she was expressing an opinion about the whole
process. There was some foolishness which she just didn't think was appropriate for a smart cat to put up with.

More and more they adjusted to life on the porch. They decided,
I believe, that the screen was not so much a barrier to them as a protection. Except
for a very few more attempted breakouts the next year, they did seem to grow
more contented with their restrained and protected life. I must acknowledge that they were hard on the furniture, as you can see. But they made do, and we did as well.